Sonata 9
by Billywick
Summary: Gilbert would never forget his king. His most beloved, the one who had won his respect, worship and his heart. A short retrospective concerning the first meeting of king and kingdom. Will get lemony. FritzxPrussia historical yaoi ftw!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: ok, another pairing has gripped my muse. FritzxPrussia. all historical innacuracies are the result of my fail research. But Friedrich der Große is definitely my hero. peace out. This is a two parter me thinks.**

**Sonata 9**

"Gilbert...Gilbert, my beloved kingdom, look at me."

The kingdom of Prussia raised his head, his sorrowful red eyes resting on the old man who was his most beloved king. Friedrich the Second of Prussia was watching him, his blue eyes shining with gentle adoration, his weathered, worn-out features softening as he looked upon his most beloved comrade and subject, his homeland.

The old king was dying. He knew it, the court knew it, his family knew it, and Prussia knew it too. Even if he didn't want to believe it. To him, the years with Friedrich had seemed like days, a fleeting moment in his eyes.

New tears rose up in those blood-red orbs. No one would believe that this war-hungry nation could cry. But he would. In his very being, he could feel Friedrich's life slip through his fingers like grains of sand. No matter how tightly he grasped at them, the grains went their own way, with no regard for his pain.

Gilbert loved Friedrich. He didn't just love him because the Prussian people loved him, or because he had brought glory to Prussia. Gilbert loved Friedrich as a man, he loved him with every fibre of his being. He had known it would bring him great pain, because no human could possibly live as long as his kind did. This was why it was an unspoken rule between nations never to fall for their regent, or any human in general. But it still happened, and not just to Gilbert.

That didn't lessen the impact of Friedrich's impending death. Gilbert knelt in front of the old regent, his head level with Friedrich's knee. His eyes held the silent plea for this man to stay, to stay with him, not to leave him behind.

It tore at Friedrich's heart to see his beloved Prussia so downtrodden. There wasn't much in the world that affected his proud nation. He himself had found closure with his end. He had achieved so much, made Prussia into a European superpower, had built enough to be remembered throughout history.

But now, he was causing this grief to Gilbert by leaving him. His nation could not die, he would live eternally with this pain. Friedrich laid a hand on Gilbert's silvery head, fingers stroking lightly through the soft locks.

"Gilbert, please, I still live. You must not cry, you are a proud, strong nation. Don't shed tears for an old man."

"Fritz..."

The name fell as a whisper from Gilbert's mouth. He swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. But he saw the frail, aged body in front of him, he could feel the trembling of an unsteady hand in his hair.

"Please, my beloved Prussia, do not think of what is to come...Think of a more jovial time. Think of how I became your king..."

Gilbert nodded silently, closing his eyes and laying his head onto his old king's warm leg. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Friedrich's coronation and the joyful years that followed.

The sun blazed brightly in the azure sky. It seemed even the heavens above were celebrating this day. The day that Friedrich the Second would ascend to the throne of Prussia, to become King in Prussia.

The future king had been preparing for his grand ceremony for days, and to be honest the young man was more than ready to be crowned, just so he could escape the bustling masses of people that demanded to have something to do with him.

All he wanted to do was to get out of the uncomfortable, yet impressive royal regalia and rule over his country in a sensible, quiet manner. Not in terms of politics. No, Friedrich had big plans for his kingdom. But he despised the hustle and bustle of a busy royal court. Some day, he would build himself a beautiful castle in which he would spend his time dedicated to music and philosophy...

Another Count had been announced. The future regent gave a sigh of discomfort as the page bustled from his chambers. For the first time in hours, he had a moment to himself. He wondered what awaited him. Though he knew the basics of his ceremony, there had been aspects mentioned of which he had never heard.

And there was that man. Friedrich had seen him around his father, he had escorted him like a bodyguard. This man was very pale, and his eyes shone like blood, or a vibrant fire. There was something feral about this 'white man', as he used to call him as a child.

He didn't even know his name, or just what function he held. The crown-prince had never been introduced to him, and he had never heard his father, the old king, speak with the albino in the presence of Friedrich. He was important somehow, Friedrich could feel it.

And he was attractive. Though Friedrich had promised himself that nothing would take priority over the rule of his beloved kingdom, he couldn't control the thoughts he had about the pale one.

But today, that would change. The pale one was always around his father, but now that Friedrich Wilhelm had died, he seemed to keep close to Fritz himself. It made the young regent curious. The way that everyone handled the pale-skinned individual made him guess he was important, almost like a guarded secret of the royal house of the Hohenzollern family.

His mother had made a few comments that made it sound as if the pale one was a personal servant to the king only.

Friedrich cast these thoughts aside. His coronation awaited, and finally he would be King in Prussia. And soon, if his strategies and plans were to succeed, he could name himself King of Prussia.

He hated coronations. They were long, tiring, but most of all, they required him to pay attention to an individual who would proclaim themselves his lord, his regent. Gilbert hated being called a servant to a mere human. It was beneath the proud nation to respond to such a description.

This one was probably no different to his father. Friedrich Wilhelm, the so-called soldier-king, had been a volatile man. Gilbert couldn't despise him, after all, he had stabilized Prussia's economy, and had strengthened the military considerably.

And yet he had never let Gilbert use his splendid military might. He horded his riches, built his army, and remained diplomatic. But Gilbert burned for war, for the clash of swords, for the thunder of cannon-fire, and for the glorious victory over his enemies.

Austria, Sweden, France, Russia, Hungary...All very possible targets for his attack. And yet he was chained like a dog, only able to run to the end of his chain and bark.

But now the soldier-king was dead, and his son would have to overcome his father's shadow. And war was the perfect opportunity, in Gilbert's eyes. Friedrich the second would be his tool to do as he pleased, after all, what he had heard about the boy was not exactly proof of a tough character. He enjoyed music, philosophy and poetry. Such artistic interest was foreign to Gilbert, and he suspected him to be a weak coward.

How was Prussia to know how wrong he was, and that this 'weak coward' would be his greatest, most beloved regent? How was he to know that he would fatally fall in love with this artistic fool?

He couldn't have. Even nations can't predict the future.

And right now, he was late for the ceremony. Quickly, his legs carried him to the hall in which it would take place, taking secret shortcuts and squeezing himself past servants and guests. No matter if he liked or disliked his new king, he had to be at his side from now on til his death. Or removal from his throne. It was Gilbert's duty.

Although his new king certainly had one thing that made Gilbert soften his harsh opinion of him slightly. His new, freshly crowned king was damn attractive. He had an almost magnetic effect on Prussia. Gilbert remained silent throughout the ceremony.

The general public and the nobility of Prussia did not know who and what Gilbert was. They assumed he was the personal guard of the king, not exactly a person of interest. If he should speak in front of all these people, they would feel it, hear it in his voice. Almost taste it in the air. He was after all, a piece of all of them, and they were pieces of him.

So Prussia listened with a neutral expression to the promises of his new king, until he heard a certain sentence which immediately brought a smirk to his lips. Friedrich the second had just proclaimed to be the first servant of his state. Oh, if he only had an idea of what awaited him later, he would have noticed the irony of his words.

So he was his first servant hm? Gilbert would make him fulfil that promise. Oh yes.

Friedrich was exhausted. There was absolutely no other description for the state he was in. Pure exhaustion. Had there always been so many nobles in his court? Had every new king had to drink so much to toast to his kingdom?

It was a couple of minutes past one in the morning, when a tap on the arm made Friedrich jump out of a half-dozing nap. Light blue eyes had to adjust and focus on the perpetrator, then a hazy brain recognized the man standing next to him as the pale bodyguard. What was his name again? Did Friedrich even know his name?

Apparently not, because the man leaned down to his ear, and spoke with a gravelly voice that sent shivers down Friedrich's spine.

"My king, my name is Gilbert. There is one more ceremony for you to fulfil. And for that, you must follow me now, quietly, your majesty."

Something seemed to stirring in his stomach, a tingling of excitement. Would he finally find out what this pale...what this Gilbert's function was?

As stealthily as he could, he rose to his feet. He looked into his tableround, but his guests seemed to have had a few too many measures of the fine wine that had been served. Even his wife, Christine Elisabeth who usually held back on drinking looked rather rosy. This didn't stir anything in Friedrich at all. The marriage to that woman had been arranged and was purely political. He spent as little time as possible in her presence. From a rather young age, Friedrich had known women held no charms as partners to him. He met the occasional interesting personage, but as lovers...He preferred men.

Like the attractive albino that was leading him away from his own feast now. Just what was this ceremony he had known nothing of? Was it a secret of the state? Or a special circumstance for his coronation? So many questions that he did not dare ask, and yet, his heart pounded with excitement and anticipation.


	2. Leben ist schön

What had he done?

Friedrich's blue eyes swept the devastated landscape. All around him lay Prussian soldiers. Dead, Prussian soldiers. His splendid army had lost, some of his people had even fled, and Austria had carried away this victory.

The great king made his way into the medical tent, where the wounded were being tended to. He made his way through all the misery and pain around him. It was all his fault. Friedrich remained stoic though. His soldiers needed a resolute standpoint from him now. If he showed weakness, they would abandon all hope.

Soon, he had reached a small, curtained off portion of tent. He knew who lay beyond the thin linen. Already he could feel the pained gasps and sputters of his beloved nation. Quickly, he entered the small section, his eyes widening as he saw just how bad Gilbert looked. Prussia was gasping, coughing up blood; his body seemed drenched in the crimson liquid. The albino was shivering with pain, and any attempts of the medics to relieve his pain seemed pointless.

His red eyes rolled around, frantically looking for Friedrich, for his king and lover. Speech seemed impossible for him; a painful gurgle was all he could muster as he spotted his regent.

Friedrich couldn't keep up his façade of strength anymore. He sunk to his knees next to the bed, hands gripping those of his nation. Tears rose in his sky-blue eyes.

"Leave us alone."

His voice was just a whisper, but the medics left them alone together immediately. They couldn't do anything for the albino anyway.

"Gilbert…Gilbert I am so sorry, Gilbert, forgive me…" the king rested his head on the bloody best of his nation, who's heaving breaths shook his whole body.

He had done this to him. He had pushed Prussia this far. True, he couldn't have known how long this war would be…But he had known it would hurt Gilbert.

It broke his heart to see the once strong and proud nation so weak, wounded and defeated. His fault, his fault alone. Warmongering, stupid king.

The tears rolled down his face, soaking into the stained clothing of his nation. He couldn't sob, he could only pour his heart out silently, wishing he could do something to help his beloved Gilbert, his beloved kingdom.

A shaking hand landed on his cheek, making him look up at the one he was crying for. Gilbert was still having trouble breathing, but his eyes seemed to have conquered the immeasurable pain.

"My king…" he croaked, his voice was a mere scratching noise, "I still live for you…I will still fight for you…"

"Gilbert, no, you cannot. I cannot watch you be destroyed, my beloved kingdom," Friedrich swallowed heavily, gripping Gilbert's left hand, "I would rather surrender than lose you, Gilbert."

The bleeding albino shook his head only by a fraction, he couldn't manage a more powerful gesture at the moment.

"I will never be a coward and surrender, Friedrich…we are not finished…I can't lose if I follow you, my king."

"Gilbert, I will never let you fall…Let me figure out how to save you…Please, just hold on my precious one!"

The nation gave a weak smile, closing his eyes,

"I will, obey, my king. I will live just to be at your side again…I want to wake up next to you in Berlin again…You will save me…"

The king had to bite his lip again. This dedication and blind trust always moved him. How had he gained this respect from this unruly nation, from this wild man? Friedrich had to think about the night of his coronation, the beginning of a love he could never have imagined.

-1740-

Gilbert had lead his new king to his sleeping chambers and had sent the few servants of this area away. He demanded complete privacy for this 'ceremony'.

After all, this was between Friedrich and himself.

Friedrich had kept silent, unknowing of what awaited him. How could he know, after all it wasn't a discussed subject that the king had to sleep with a man in order to complete his coronation and assert his ownership and sovereignty over his country.

The freshly crowned king blinked as he found himself standing in front of his own bed, his heart pounding harder as he tried to think of the possible inundations of their location. This could only mean some sort of intimate and private thing was about to happen, right?

His light blue eyes travelled to his pale companion, who was seemingly preparing himself for an explanation of this event. Surprise widened his orbs as the albino began undressing. So this really was something intimate.

"Erhm...G-Gilbert, what is the meaning of this? Why are you shedding your garments?"

A blush now decorated his cheeks. Though he preferred men as lovers, he rarely acted on his desires. The death of his childhood lover and friend Katte had scarred the young king, so he had been living rather chaste.

"My king, this is part of the ceremony. A king and his nation must unite in the flesh," Gilbert's voice wasn't agitated, much the opposite, he sounded rather content with the situation.

"His...nation?" Friedrich was more than a little shocked. Was the albino insinuating he was some sort of embodiment of the kingdom of Prussia?

That was absurd.

"That is right, my king. I am...the embodiment of Prussia. I do not age, and I cannot be harmed by conventional weapons. I feel every crisis, every war and change in my lands and people on my own body. And I have served your predecessors in exactly the same way I will serve you. But in order to make this bond, we have to unite."

Friedrich gulped. The albino was so casual about it, about this act of intimacy that he connected with love and affection...Not a business transaction.

"I...my, my kingdom, I am not very...experienced in this area. Is it truly necessary for us to do this right now?"

Gilbert gave a mental groan, now he was going to play coy? He couldn't exactly relate to that, he was simply glad Friedrich was more attractive than his father. So it would seem he, Gilbert, would have to take the lead. He turned to the flushed king, slowly pulling off his powdered wig, revealing soft, wavy brown hair. Really, it was an amazing improvement over the purely white wig.

He proceeded to cup his new king's face; he could feel the tremble it sent through the human's body. Was he that damn good? Probably yes. Gilbert suppressed a smirk as he leaned closer. Friedrich seemed paralyzed, blue eyes widening further as the distance between them was shortened rapidly.

"W-wait a moment, Gilb-"

His stammered sentence was cut off as Gilbert kissed him. A swarm of butterflies seemed to explode into life in Friedrich's stomach at the contact. His hands, which had previously been held helplessly into the air now closed around the man in front of him, gripping the thin fabric of his undershirt. The young king closed his eyes, submitting to the dominant nature of his seducer.

Said nation was experiencing something quite odd. Usually, he felt a short tingle when he united with his regent, but nothing through a simple touch like this. What was that shudder running down his spine? Why was he so damn aroused from the taste of those soft lips?

His mind discarded all questions as he ran his tongue over Friedrich's lips and was granted access immediately. It felt...nice, to do this. Almost as if they were true lovers. Gilbert gave a small grunt as he lifted up the young brunette in front of him. Friedrich was light, and short for his age. The nation had no trouble carrying him to the bed, which was rather spartanic, but that was just typical of his king. His predecessor had preferred simplistic over luxury too, and Friedrich seemed to have inherited that preference.

Friedrich was trying to control his racing heart and his trembling hands. This was a bit overwhelming, all these sensations he was getting from the albino in this moment. His taste, his touch, the feeling of his body in those strong arms, Friedrich liked it all and wanted more. His usual reluctance to let go of his self-control seemed to have melted away in the hot kiss that had still not been broken.

He felt himself being pressed down, and skilful fingers made short work of his complicated clothing. Soon he felt the slightly cool air of the room hit his bare skin, causing Goosebumps to break out all over his arms.

Finally, Gilbert broke the kiss that had been getting so intense it threatened Friedrich's air supply. Sultry red eyes glanced up at the regent, a silent question burning in them. Gilbert had fallen completely still, though his body was tensed and burning for further contact with that of the young human's beneath him. Like a predator, he crouched over Friedrich, dressed only in his undershirt and trousers.

"My king. May I?"

Finally, he voiced his question, his voice laced thickly with desire, husky with anticipation. He had liked it a whole damn lot to touch his new king. He was soft, inexperienced, and looked utterly ready to be ravished with that delicious blush on his cheeks.

And apparently, he was unable to speak, as he just nodded once in confirmation to Gilbert's question. But that was enough for him. He dove down and attacked the young king's neck, covering the tender skin with deft, none too gentle kisses.

Friedrich was not used to such affections, the last time he had felt the touch of another closely was with Katte...and then it had felt different, as Katte had been as inexperienced as himself, so it had been far more nervous and insecure.

But Gilbert knew exactly what he was doing. Soon, all too soon, a moan escaped Friedrich's lips under the nation's ministrations. He clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment, but too late. Gilbert had heard it, and a pretty mischievous smirk danced over his pale lips.

"Ah, my king likes this."

Another silent nod from the blushing young king. He couldn't help himself, as Gilbert's lips trailed down his shivering but willing body, he gave a wanting moan. He was beginning to become really aroused by this man, who was no more than a stranger to him.

Yet he could feel that he was a part of him, and that he would be a big part of his life. He believed him with all of his heart and soul now that he was his nation.


	3. Herzdieb

"My dear friend! I am very pleased you accepted my invitation."

"But of course. Who could refuse such a charming and most generous host?"

"You think too much of this host, dear friend."

Gilbert had enough, leaving the room swiftly and without another word. Well, this sucked. It seemed as if he would be hard-pressed for any sort of attention from his dear king now.

Voltaire had accepted the invitation. Voltaire had come to stay and live here, in THEIR beautiful Sanssouci. And Fritz seemed so damn happy about it too.

Well of course. He did invite him.

Where was he to go now? The large gardens sprawled out before him. It wasn't quite Autumn yet, so there were still some green leaves on the trees and everything was still in bloom.

Damn it not even the gardens were soothing his temper. As if it wasn't bad enough for him to be so idle...Now he didn't even have Friedrich's company to kill time.

It wasn't as if his dear king was...entirely loyal to his 'kingdom'. Gilbert knew very well of the lovers his king kept, handsome young, intelligent men who absolutely adored their great king. But Gilbert also knew that these men were just that...They were lovers, but they did not have Friedrich's love.

Prussia had never been sure just who or what had earned this love. He knew very well that Friedrich did everything for his country and people, but was Prussia really his true love? Probably not. It had always been the Arts, music and philosophy and poetry, which drew his attention and precious time.

So did the artists who created that which Friedrich admired. And one of the most admired ones was this Voltaire, this vile Frenchman who'd come to stay for good.

So Gilbert couldn't really complain about him being French, after all the court language of Prussia was now French, though he himself preferred his own native German. It just felt more natural. Besides, he was not very...elegant in the French language. Francis sure had made fun of him enough times to know that.

But Friedrich used it daily and with everyone, including him. He didn't mind that Gilbert answered him in German, though he always looked a little disappointed. He didn't find the German language very elegant or sophisticated.

In general, Gilbert had the feeling Friedrich would have much rather been French than Prussian. The French liked their arts, their philosophy, their poetry. They were all about beauty and elegance.

Prussia was a militant country. Sure, he was improving, starting to build a bit of a culture. They even had some young German poets! But Friedrich had absolutely no interest in them. Didn't even deem them worth a read.

This...kind of hurt. It was as if Prussia...as if Gilbert was never good enough for his elegant king. Of course, a nation such as himself would never show something so weak as emotional pain. And it wasn't as if Friedrich didn't love him.

They slept together often enough for Gilbert to know that. Fritz didn't cuddle with anyone else and that too made it a little less painful for Gilbert.

But Voltaire was here now. In the flesh. Always able to dazzle Friedrich with his fancy French arts and turning the spotlight away from the person who should always be the king's main priority; Prussia.

Oh what was the point? Gilbert snapped out of his musings when he'd reached the stables. The stable-hand sweeping the yard eyed him with curiousity. Usually the king's top general accompanied him everywhere, but today the pale man seemed to be alone.

Gilbert returned the curious gaze. The stable-hand wasn't terribly bad-looking...

"Dear friend, would you excuse me until the evening meal? I am afraid I still have some important business to take care of."

Friedrich didn't really want to leave the library. It was so comfortable here, exchanging intellectual mind-gold with Voltaire. The real live Voltaire! No longer just a friend he wrote to!

The French writer eyed him with a little amusement. He seemed to know exactly what the king had to attend to. They may only have spent most of the day talking of the arts, but he had noticed a certain affection in the king's voice regarding...

"Your pale friend?"

"Gilbert, yes. I am afraid he may feel a little lonesome now..."

So, with his excuse standing, Friedrich set out to find the personification of his kingdom. He felt bad, this was true. He knew Gilbert didn't much like it when his king ignored him, especially in favour of someone else. A childish, yet endearing quality of his lover. And yes, Friedrich thought of Gilbert as his lover, not just his kingdom. One he shared a much deeper connection to, even if they didn't have much in common.

It was much like taming a shrew, his life with Gilbert. The militant, war-hungry nation had many difficulties settling down to a cultured life here in Sanssouci. Friedrich had been patient, had paid lots of attention to his kingdom's needs. He'd even attempted to teach Gilbert how to play flute and had found the albino quite talented.

Said talented albino had instantly put the flute away and refused to ever play again when Fritz had dared suggest he might be as musically talented as Austria.

Always a mistake to mention Roderich, Fritz should have known that.

He gave a small sigh. He loved his Gilbert so dearly. He just wished that the albino wouldn't take everything so hard and could just enjoy a quiet life with him.

Soon enough, he had found his dear kingdom. In the yard of the stable, seemingly fighting with what looked like a stable-boy. The pale nation was grinning as the boy tried pointlessly to hit him with a broom.

How cruel. As if the poor lad had a chance against Gilbert...

What on earth could Fritz do to soothe Gilbert's apparently relentless boredom?

It didn't used to be like this. Way before, when he'd just become king in Prussia, it had never been like this...

~1740~

"Oh yes, my king really, really likes this," he mocked, teeth nipping at the skin of Friedrich's neck, a hot, wet tongue licking languishly along what belonged to him now. Prussia was very much enjoying this too.

Making Friedrich his king felt damn hot and damn right.

The inexperienced young man beneath him wasn't able to think that far, lust had pretty much consumed his mind and body. He was winding in Gilbert's arms, wanting more of his touches, more of his voice, just more of him in general.

He'd never felt so aroused in his life. Something the albino was doing was really, really intoxicating for Friedrich, who's usually pale cheeks were dusted with a fine blush.

A pale hand had wrapped around his, vital regions, driving him slowly insane with pleasure and pain. It seemed the albino found it amusing to hear him moan, then wince as he pinched that overly sensitive skin.

All in all, it definitely felt like Gilbert was playing with him, though his pale body betrayed some lust of his own.

Friedrich was growing impatient. He wanted this to go further, he wanted them to get closer and he definitely wanted more intoxicating pleasure to be given to him. He dared to voice his desires.

"Please...more! Please...my kingdom..."

And this definitely seemed to perk Gilbert up. His red eyes lit up with mischief, his smirk became unbearably smug. No one should be able to look that smug!

Especially not when one had one's hand wrapped around his new king's rather hard member.

Gilbert continued his slow pumps, but now he began sliding down, making himself some space between Friedrich's legs, parting them almost obscenely.

This only caused Friedrich's face to turn even redder, but what the embodiment of Prussia told him next just left him speechless.

"You make a damn pretty whore for me, my little king."

This man was a devil! Who dared speak this way to their monarch?

However, before he could even think of an answer to this, he felt those devilish pale fingers penetrate him and begin their dance of seduction.

Any thoughts of a retort immediately left his head. This was just too good to ruin with scolding words.

"Moan for me, my pretty little king."

Once again he obeyed the gravely, rough voice. The pale fingers inside of him had found a certain spot anyway, so he didn't have much choice. Though he clamped his hand over his mouth for decency's sake.

He couldn't just let himself go entirely, could he?

But Prussia seemed determined to make him melt, because he covered his lips in a passionate, rough kiss that allowed no resistance.

Okay, so decency had just left him as well as dignity...He moaned into the albino's mouth, wondering how many other virtues of his were going to vanish in this night.


	4. Tenth man down

**Sonata 9 pt 4**

**Tenth man down**

The sound of cannon fire deafened him, the smoke from the rifles blinded him and the smell of blood and iron was everywhere. Gilbert would have laughed with joy if he hadn't been in the middle of a battle. This is what he was made for. His hands, clutching a blood-drenched blade, his fingers, calloused from the trigger of his own rifle, his skin, dirtied from gunpowder and the soil he fought for.

Austrian soldiers, Russian soldiers, it didn't matter who faced him. He could not die. Not as long as his lands were known as Prussia. He was terrifying and glorious to behold. Prussia. A war machine if ever there was one.

Friedrich couldn't tear his eyes away from his precious nation. Gilbert was on fire with passion, with an ancient desire to fight, to conquer. Maybe a remnant from his early days among the crusaders…But whatever the reason, he was living out that desire right now, at the cost of Austrian, Russian, Hungarian and Prussian blood.

He himself, the king, was far too close to battle for his generals' comfort. Beneath him, the grey horse pranced nervously, frightened by the constant firing of rifles and cannons.

But Friedrich was deaf to the pleas 'for his majesty's safety'. His men were here, his nation was here, his heart and place were right here, close to the front lines. He could still see Gilbert, a furious whirl of red and Prussian blue, wreaking havoc amongst enemy lines and giving the Prussian forces the motivation they needed to attack.

His beautiful Gilbert…Friedrich would do anything to have those pale lips stretch into a sated smile, to see those crimson orbs content with what he had achieved. Friedrich wanted...yes he wanted Prussia to be proud of him. He wanted Gilbert to be proud of him. He wanted his name to live on in fame. Sure, he'd have preferred to be a philosopher or even a musician, but he knew what tremendous power and fame his position as king could bring him. And only a fool would let the chance slip by. Especially with such motivation as Prussia himself, an enticing, energetic and eccentric being that deserved everything a king could offer to him.

Friedrich had offered his heart and soul to Gilbert, wooing him with the promise of battle, courting him with the temptatious offers of conquest.

Sure enough, it had worked. Gilbert was dedicated, loyal, protective…everything one could hope for as a regent faced with the embodiment of his nation. But Friedrich was no fool. He too knew that Gilbert was, personally, in love with his king. It was not the popularity Fritz held amongst his people, nor was it the fact that he was doing so much to improve Prussia.

No, Gilbert had fallen in love with Friedrich all by himself. That was why he was fighting with such passion, such joy. He was fighting for his beloved king, so he could make his dreams come true.

Though it was a fatal mistake to allow Friedrich, not the most attentive of fighters, to be so close to the battle.

Roderich, the embodiment of Austria, was breathing heavily, trying to ignore the screams of anguish from his dying soldiers. He had been ordered not to go and fight Prussia personally which he was finding an increasingly difficult order to follow. Prussia couldn't be harmed by bullets or stab wounds…Only the loss of his land and army would hurt Gilbert. Or a killing blow on his regent to whom he was so closely linked.

So Roderich aimed carefully. He only had one shot at this, only one shot at the man who had started this war, who had unleashed Prussia upon Europe.

Friedrich the second seemed unaware of what kind of a target he was making on his grey horse. Roderich drowned out the shouting around him, steadied his own horse. He squinted a little along the barrel of his rifle before he pulled the trigger.

Gilbert had been in the middle of breaking an Austrian's back when he felt it. Like a sharp stab to his chest, it robbed him of his breath for a couple of seconds and he nearly tumbled to the ground. Crimson eyes widened with panic and a single name broke from his lips,

"FRITZ!"

By the time he got behind the frontlines, the generals had all assembled around his king. Gilbert pushed through them without a care for their fragile natures as humans. He fell down to his knees next to his beloved king. At least Friedrich was still breathing, though his eyes were wide with shock. Gilbert cradled his regent in his arms, unable to say anything to him. After a couple of seconds, he frowned. Friedrich wasn't…bleeding or anything.

An eyebrow quizzically cocked, Gilbert stroked over Friedrich's body slowly, as if to check himself whether he was in one piece or not.

"Friedrich…are you…not hurt?" he whispered, unable to believe his luck when Friedrich shook his head and reached to open his vest. Gilbert did it for him, giving a choked laugh of triumph as he pulled out a small, golden tobacco box. In which a bullet had embedded itself. This little insignificant item had saved Friedrich's life, that shot had been aimed at his heart and had knocked him off of his horse. Gilbert held the little box up into the air; the generals broke out into joyous cries of disbelief.

Prussia cradled his king closely, dirty fingers threading through soft brown-grey hair, Fritz had even lost his hat and wig.

The king reached up to wipe a few worried tears from Gilbert's blood and dirt-smeared face as the nation finally whispered a few words to him.

"You bastard! I was scared to death something had happened to you, but apparently Lady Luck is keeping her eye on you so I don't have to…"

"Gilbert…" Friedrich smiled apologetically, knowing damn well every word the albino had said was true. That wasn't just luck, that was a damn miracle. Something wanted him to succeed, if it was Luck or God, he couldn't possibly tell.

-1740-

Friedrich didn't know if this was heaven or hell anymore. Gilbert inside of him felt too good, devilishly good, nothing this unholy should be this right…

And yet he couldn't help thinking that this was beautiful. How could it be wrong for two men to do this? How could his father, who had done this with Gilbert before him, condemn his own son for it?

But now was not the right time for Friedrich to dwell on such matters, because the albino above him had evidently decided he was stretched enough. The young king's body shivered with anticipation, it had been so long since he'd done anything like this. Years, long, lonely years…and the heartbreak he connected to the only person he had touched sexually was too much for him to bare thinking about doing it with anyone else.

Strangely though, it didn't seem to matter now. This was so different. Gilbert was so different. He was experienced, he was hungry…he was gorgeous. The way his dark red eyes flashed with unbridled lust, the way his pale body molded itself against Friedrich's…Beautiful. Enticing. Enchanting.

"Gi-Gilbert…!"

Somehow, he wanted to show the impertinent soul that he felt…ready for this, he wanted it, he was literally panting for it now against those pale lips.

Gilbert seemed to have understood long ago because that smirk once again spread across his lips. With a wet little noise, he pulled his fingers out of his king and grabbed something from the table next to the bed. Friedrich was far too turned on now to recognize what it was, all he felt was the sensation of something far larger than a few fingers probing at his backside.

"My king…" the albino above him purred before he buried himself within Friedrich. The young king gave a startled moan of pain, he hadn't anticipated quite such an energetic 'entry'.

Gilbert breathed heavily above him, placing small kisses on the face of his new monarch. Soon enough, his movements turned smoother, he slowly began exploring deeper into Friedrich.

Slim, long fingers were buried in Gilbert's silvery locks, well-formed lips panting with pain turning to pleasure and dark blue eyes closed gently, giving in to said pleasure as the albino nation paid worship to his king's torso.

Oh, Friedrich could get used to this. Becoming king had just gained another uniquely satisfying perk.


End file.
